


Zen and the Art of Hovercycle Maintenance

by NiteWrighter



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiteWrighter/pseuds/NiteWrighter
Summary: Zenyatta is captured by the Deadlock gang after a mission goes awry! Can he survive their dastardly clutches? Or is there more to the gang than meets the eye?





	1. Chapter 1

The Hover-semi roared down the highway, its carriage bucking and rocking from the combination of its speed and the damages to the mag-cable beneath the road. The rock formations of Deadlock gorge were flying past, a beautiful but stark reminder that if they lost control of the truck, it could be a very _very_ long way down.

“Can you _please_ drive more carefully?!” Jack’s hand was gripping the dashboard as McCree floored it.

“I’m tryin’! I’m tryin’!” said McCree, both hands tense on the wheel, “How are we looking?” 

Jack looked to the rearview mirror of the semi the flinched back as it was shot off with pulsefire. “About the same,” he said with a growl. He put a hand to his ear. “Orisa, Zen, you’re keeping them off the Mag-levs?”

“To the best of our abilities!” Orisa’s reply was chipper, but not reassuring. Something about the way Efi had designed Orisa to be a calming presence seemed to ratchet up anxiety even worse in situations like this.

Jack huffed. “Torb. Fawkes. How’s the payload looking?”

“Sweatin’ nitro like my dad in court!” Junkrat declared so loudly it caused feedback in the comms.

Jack snarled. Why did they let the junkers on the team again? “Lindholm,” said Jack, “What does he mean?”

“He means a hot truck bed is no place for explosives!” said Torbjörn, “Dynamite naturally sweats nitroglycerine over time, and heat speeds up the process so–”

“So we could blow at any second,” said Jack, rubbing his forehead.

“Well I haven’t been able to take a full inventory. We don’t know how much of this payload is pulse or EMP based so—”

“Still don’t know when we could blow,” said Jack, he brought up his pulse rifle, “Keep us steady.” he said to McCree, “This is what we get for stealing from Deadlock.”

“These… aren’t Deadlock,” said McCree, looking in the rearview mirror at a hovercyclist coming up fast on his side. He raised an eyebrow at the decal on the back of the hovercyclist’s jacket.

“‘Sidewinders?’” McCree read the decal, “I’m like… 90% sure that’s been done before–”

“’Deadlock’ has definitely been done before,” said Jack. His hand tensed slightly as the hover-semi rocked again and a hovercyclist accelerated in front of the truck.

“Shit…” said Jack as two more flanked the hovercyclist at the front. The three hovercycles wove and braided between each other in some kind of showboating or intimidation tactic.

“Upstarts,” muttered McCree, “Ashe and I pulled the same shit back in our day.”

Atop the trailer of the hover-semi, Zenyatta and Orisa were laying down cover fire as several hovercyclists attempted to flank the semi. They were outnumbered, that much was clear. Each hovercycle carried two occupants–one who was steering, and one who was shooting. Orisa was laying down barrier after barrier just to protect herself and Zenyatta, but their pursuers managed to keep weaving out of her graviton charges.

Zenyatta ducked behind Orisa and Orisa fortified as one rider fired off a round of semi-automatic gunfire at both of them, before Zen was able to knock them off of the back of their hovercycle with a well-aimed orb.

“An excellent shot!” said Orisa.

“My thanks,” said Zenyatta, as Orisa fortified and Zen ducked behind her again as several more hovercyclists pulled up from the rear.

“Morrison,” Zenyatta spoke into the comms, “They appear to have brought in reinforcements.”

The trailer of the hover-semi suddenly rocked hard and Zen looked out over the side. A hovercycle had hugged close to the side of the hover-semi’s trailer. Rather than shooting at him and Orisa, the rider on the back of the hovercycle was using an acetylene torch against the steel of their payload, sending a shower of sparks spilling off the side of the trailer. “It would seem they are no longer trying to blow out the mag-levs,” said Zenyatta.

“They are cutting through the hull!” said Orisa, firing down at the motorcyclists, only to have them weave out of her fire.

“Well, stop them!” said Jack, “We have to keep this payload from falling into their hands at all costs!”

“Wait a sec…” said Junkrat, “So you’re saying, the mission _isn’t_ taking this big beautiful pile of ‘splodeys for ourselves… it’s just making sure _no one else_ gets them?” 

“I mean–” McCree started.

“Well _why didn’t you say so earlier?!_” said Junkrat.

“Fawkes, don’t you dare–” Torbjörn started.

“Junkrat, you are ordered NOT TO DETONATE. You’ll compromise the whole team’s safety!” Jack barked into the comms.

“Oh, Beardy’ll be fiiiiine! I’ll make sure of that!” said Junkrat.

“Fawkes! Don’t you—PUT ME DOWN! I SAID PUT ME DOWN!” Torbjörn hollered.

Jack instinctively ratcheted a lever and unhitched the trailer.

“The omnics!” said McCree.

“Orisa! Grab Tekharta and fortify!” yelled Jack.

“Tekharta Zen–” Orisa flailed out her hand toward him, glittering green with her fortification field. 

“FIRE IN THE HOLE!” Junkrat hollered.

A bright light of transcendence burst off of Zen as the hover semi’s trailer exploded. Everything went red and yellow and white with hunks of metal flying through the air. Zen wondered if the shrapnel flying through the air were bits of himself, but felt little pain, and could feel the warmth of the iris around him. There was fire and then blue… a pretty blue. Zen realized he was flying through the air, then the sky was framed by orange rock on either side. The gorge. He was falling into Deadlock Gorge. Despite the disorientation of his fall, he kept the light of the Iris around himself.

_Wham._ He felt the first impact of the stone, muted by the Iris’s warmth.

_Wham. _He hit the wall of the gorge again. The second impact forced the transcendence to fade off of him and panic gripped him as he fell for some terrifying, dizzying seconds. Just how _deep_ was the gorge anyway? 

_Wham._ He hit the wall of the gorge a third time and then found himself tumbling against sheer rock before dropping through the air one last time. His vision flickered. The last thing he saw and heard before blacking out were his orbs of harmony and discord, rolling and bouncing down the cliffside, chiming and clanging as they did so.

—

For better or worse, the Sidewinder gang was off their backs. The front of the no-longer-hovering-hover-semi was still screeching along the highway, the windshield warped and shattered, the remains of the truck bed blackened, and McCree and Jack still in the front seats as it screeched along until it came to a slow, shuddering stop. Even McCree’s prosthetic was shaking as it fumbled against the door handle. Both doors of the semi fell off and McCree tumbled out, flopping onto his back on the asphalt. Jack stumbled out the other side and dry-heaved for a second before rollicking back on his heels and trying to re-orient himself.

“’We need an explosives expert’ you said,” said Jack, looking over at McCree.

“Well.. t’be fair,” said McCree, grunting and bringing himself to his feet, “Deadlock didn’t get their hands on the payload.”

“Did you see that?!” Junkrat was shouting over a string of Swedish swears as he and Torbjörn both clung to the side of a rock formation bordering the road, “DID YOU _SEE THAT!?”_

_“That’s_ another 6 months of Watchpoint probation!” said Jack, “If it wasn’t for what you found in that Omnium, we would have turned you in to Interpol the second we met you!”

“You’re welcome!” Junkrat hollered back, leaping down from the rock face and dragging Torbjörn down with him.

McCree looked back towards the smoking wreckage of the semi trailer. “’Risa!” he called, “You all right?”

McCree squinted in the sun as Orisa’s massive frame trod through the smoke and strewn metal. “My systems appear to be functioning normally!” she said, coming out of the smoke. Her fusion driver arm fell off. “Oh….”

“So we’re all alive,” said Jack, looking around.

“You mean you doubted me?” said Junkrat, “Cowboy here _said_ I was an explosives expert! If I had wanted to blow us all to hell, you can bet we wouldn’t be talking, mate.”

McCree took his hat off and brushed off some shards of shattered glass and smoke stains. “Well, you can bet Deadlock saw that explosion from miles off. We’d better clear out before—” McCree looked around, “Wait–where’s Zen?”

“Who?” said Junkrat.

“Zenyatta,” said Jack, “The other omnic.”

“…There was another omnic?” Junkrat said sheepishly.

“Bronze? Floaty? Nine lights on his head? Ring a bell?” said Mccree.

“The floaty thing? Y’mean he wasn’t just a chunk of her?” said Junkrat, gesturing at Orisa.

“Excuse me? A ‘chunk’ of me?” said Orisa.

“Y’know how some toys have bits that can pop off and–” Junkrat was socked hard in the face by McCree.

“YOU SON OF A–”

“Agent McCree!” Orisa picked up her fallen off arm and put it between McCree and Junkrat to keep McCree from lunging at the junker.

McCree looked at Orisa. “Don’t try and keep me from–”

“Tekharta Zenyatta transcended when the explosion hit,” said Orisa, “By my calculations of his healing output, it is likely that he survived–at the very least, his memory core did. We must focus our efforts towards finding him!” It was then that Orisa’s shoulder creaked and her other arm fell off as well, “Oh dear,” she said.

McCree gave a sharp look at Junkrat who just shrugged and chuckled nervously.

“Aw, jeez…” McCree hauled up one of Orisa’s arms, “Torb, how fast do you think you can get these things back on her?”

“OR-14′s weren’t my design, but I should manage,” said Torbjörn.

“Not before we get company, though,” said Jack, turning on his tactical visor, seeing movement along the mirage-rippled horizon, a cloud of dust kicked up by more hovercycles, “Company incoming, and no arms mean no shields.”

“We can take ‘em!” said Junkrat.

“No arm means no fusion driver either,” said Jack.

“But Zenyatta–” Orisa started.

“We regroup, avoid Deadlock, make the necessary repairs to Orisa,” said Jack, “Then we can search the area for Zen. Hopefully his comm’s beacon activated so he shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

—-

“This is bullshit,” muttered Zeke.

“Hush up!” said P.T, “If Boss says we search the gorge, then we search the gorge!”

“Why do _we_ gotta search the gorge?” said Terran, looking up at the cliff walls, “Place always gives me the creeps…. Bars never searches the gorge…”

“Boss need Bars’s eyes up top,” said P.T., “Maybe she got tired of listenin’ to your gripes.”

“Maybe the boss got tired of lookin’ at your face!” shot back Terran.

“Maybe the boss got tired of smellin’ your stank!” Zeke cut in.

“Maybe the boss got tired of—” P.T. tripped and fell hard on his stomach and Terran and Zeke snorted.

“You’d think Bars would point that shit out to you,” said Terran. 

“Har har,” said P.T flatly, “What the hell did—” He glanced back at what he had tripped on and found it was an intricately etched bronze orb. “…the hell?” he picked it up and turned it over in his hand.

“What is that?” said Zeke, looking over his shoulder.

“Hands off!” said P.T, pulling the orb close to himself, “I found it first!”

“You don’t even know what it is!” said Zeke, circling around him.

“Let me see!” said Terran grabbing for it.

“I said hands off!” said P.T, trying to hold it out of his siblings’ reach but finding that impossible with all of them the exact same height. P.T broke away from them and started running across the bottom of the gorge before tripping again. “Oh for the love of–!” he looked and saw another intricately etched bronze orb. “Huh…”

“Dibs!” shouted Zeke.

“I _found_ it!” snapped P.T.

“You can’t keep both!” said Zeke, grabbing for the other orb now, “You know what the Boss says–one big happy family—”

“Guys,” Terran bent and picked up a third orb, “Look.” He pointed a ways away where several orbs were sitting in the gravelly dust of Deadlock gorge.

“There’s a bunch of them!” said Zeke, running past Terran and picking up two more orbs.

“Think it was from the blast up top?” asked P.T.

“Gotta be,” said Terran, shaking the orb next to his ear and only hearing a soft chiming sound.

Zeke had an armful of the bronze orbs at this point. “Bet that truck was from some kinda snooty art show or something,” he said, struggling to pick up another orb, “Whoever lost these would probably pay good money to get ‘em…” Zeke’s eyes fell on what he previousl thought was a pile of scrap, only to make out a silvery domed head and spindly yet strong metal limbs. He dropped his armload of orbs and hurried over. “Shit,” he turned the head of the collapsed Omnic slightly. A row of nine lights were on the omnic’s forehead, flickering weakly.

“Thrown into the Gorge and still tickin’…” Zeke said in awe. “Guys!” he shouted to the others, “Get the boss on the line! I found someone!” 

—

Bars’ scope scanned the wreckage. Most of the flames had died down but the air was still hazy from the smoke. Ashe chewed her red-rouged lips with white teeth.

“Don’t like this…” she muttered, nudging a warped and blackened metal plate over with the tip of her rifle, “Don’t like this one bit.” Her head jerked up at some movement half-obscured by the brim of her hat, and she tilted her hat back with her thumb to look up at the sky rendered almost greenish by the haze and brightness to see a fluttering scrap of cloth and her eyes flicked to bars. Whoever was here had cleared out quick–far quicker than she would have liked. She didn’t like explosions on her turf. Even if it was in the ass-end of nowhere, it was the ass-end of nowhere on her turf, and she couldn’t have that. She had a reputation to maintain. Bars only gave her another nod that the area was still clear. She spat.

“Bob,” she said, and the massive Omnic a few feet behind her perked up. She pointed at the fluttering bit of cloth and Bob took a few brisk steps and easily snatched it out of the air. He handed it to her and she turned it over. It was charred at the edges, but she made out the image of a stylized snake with a ripple pattern in its wake, one of the ripples serving as the “s” in “Sidewinders MC Est. 2073″

“Goddamn amateurs,” she muttered, tossing the charred remains of the jacket back on the ground and stepping on it, “Well if there was anything of value here, it was blown all to hell in the scuffle over it.” She looked to Bob, “And we ain’t junkers. Leave the scrap for the desert to take. Let’s get back to–”

“Boss!” Terran’s voice hollered in the earpiece of her comm and she flinched from the volume.

“What?!” she snapped, bringing a finger to her ear.

“We found someone in the gorge! I think they were from the blast!”

Ashe smirked a little and looked to Bob. Sending the twins down into the gorge was half a fool’s errand, but if it actually yielded something, well who was she to argue with that?

“They alive?” said Ashe.

“They’re omnic, Boss,” P.T cut in, “We’d need to get ‘em back to the base to repair ‘em, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“Well let’s show our new friend some Deadlock hospitality,” said Ashe, motioning to Bars, walking over to her (new) hovercycle and straddling it. Bars leapt down from his perch over to his own hovercycle. Bob clambered into the almost hilariously oversized sidecar next to her and Ashe smiled a little, “Meet you back at the hideout,” she said as she revved the engine and took off.


	2. Chapter 2

“So you lost him,” said Genji, pressing his hands together in front of himself. His image on the collapsible table screen warped slightly and Jack glanced up at Junkrat, holding a makeshift antennae to allow for vidcom communication over his head. 

“Not… lost,” said Jack, “We should know where he is as soon as he comes online.”

“_If_ he comes online,” said Genji. Jack could feel the glare from behind his visor.

“He transcended as soon as the explosion happened,” said Jack, “McCree’s searching the bottom of the gorge right now and we’ll be joining him as soon as Orisa’s patched up. We were just calling you in case…”

“In case…?” Genji tilted his head.

“In…case you might have anything on you that might narrow our search,” Jack said a little sheepishly.

“Jack, I–” Genji started but was cut off by the sound of pulsefire.

“Genji, any time you could join us would be nice!” Tracer could be heard offscreen as more pulsefire sounded in the background.

“Give me another minute!” Genji shouted back before turning his attention back to the vidcom, “To answer your question, no. I don’t have anything. We don’t keep track of each other like that. He’s not a mission partner, Jack, he’s my teacher. You know I had my misgivings about this mission as soon as I heard Torbjörn and Junkrat were on it–”

“We’re spread thin and we needed a medic–” Jack started.

“And I took your word on that,” said Genji, “And now he’s missing.”

“Admittedly, the only reason I brought him along was because Zhou’s performance proved that you didn’t necessarily need military training to keep up with our current strike teams,” said Jack, stiffly.

“You didn’t think he could do it,” said Genji, “…at least not like Angela or Captain Amari could do it.”

“We didn’t anticipate medical assistance would _be_ that needed,” said Jack.

“So you brought him around for what? So he wouldn’t feel left out?” said Genji.

“We still need a medic, it’s protocol!” said Jack.

“Genji!” Tracer could be heard offscreen again.

“30 seconds!” Genji shouted back.

“Did _you_ think he could do it?” Jack fired back, “When you brought him on board with us, when you and he agreed that he could help out on field missions, did you really think he could handle everything Talon or anyone else could throw at us? Or did you just need him around because you weren’t sure of yourself?”

Genji visibly flinched at his words. “I–” he started but was cut off by more pulsefire in the background.

“Genji!” Angela’s voice could be heard this time, “We need you flanking!”

“You don’t have time for this,” said Jack.

“Update me as soon as possible. Shimada out,” said Genji, clicking out of the comms channel.

The vidcom channel blipped to a blue screen and Jack huffed and massaged the bridge of his nose and the migraine that was just starting to bloom there with his thumb and forefinger.

“Do I still need to keep the antennae up?” asked Junkrat.

“No,” said Jack rising to his feet and squinting in the dry desert wind, “Let’s just get back to searching.”

—

Zen’s gyroscopics were completely out of whack as his vision flickered back on. Immediately he realized he was no longer under the baking sun of the southwest, but rather, in a large, somewhat grubby but well-kept workshop—maybe a garage? A bunker? A massive mechanical hand passed in front of his face and he nearly flinched but then realized his body wasn’t responding enough to him_ to_ flinch.Two omnics were stooped over him, one a hulking yet polished multi-use unit donning a fur-collared leather vest and derby hat, and the other a basic laborer unit that had clearly heavily self-modified with yellow and blue visual receptors and a green hood.

Zen’s vision cut out again.

“Oh whoop,” said one, he couldn’t tell which with his orientation still malfunctioning and his vision off, then it flickered back.

“Sorry about that,” said the Omnic with yellow and blue eyes, tweaking at something below Zen’s neck.

“I-I-I-I” Zenyatta’s voice was caught in a loop.

“Hang in there, I got this,” said the skinnier omnic. Zen felt the pressure and brief shock of wires connecting and then being wrapped up in insulating tape, then his voice seemed to return to him.

“Where am I?” he said, trying to move his head but finding even his neck unresponsive.

“Somewhere safe,” said the skinny omnic, “We found you at the bottom of the gorge… y’know, most units with your make would be bricked by that kind of fall.”

“I am not like most units,” said Zenyatta. He tried to move again. The larger Omnic, who was working on Zen’s shoulder, glanced up and made a hand waving motion while shaking his head.

“Don’t try to move just yet. We had to shut down most motor functions to make most of the repairs,” said the skinny Omnic.

“And you know what you’re doing?” Zen tried to ask the question as respectfully as he could.

“More than most,” said the skinny omnic.

“Who are you?” asked Zenyatta.

“I’m Bars. He’s Bob,” said the skinny omnic.

“…Bob hasn’t said anything,” said Zen.

“Bob doesn’t say anything,” said Bars, “He gets his points across fine though.”

Bob started motioning with his hands then. ASL, Zen recognized it but hadn’t downloaded the language into his memory banks from the Iris. Most cochlear implant technology of their day had rendered the language pretty rare, but still Zen resolved to learn it. There were plenty of Omnics who opted for binary over organic languages as a point of pride and distinction, but the Shambali had prided themselves on being ambassadors, and thus had equipped themselves with countless organic languages. ASL was… an interesting choice, all things considered, but there was a gentleness in Bob’s motions as he signed, a strong sense of dignity and purpose of speech.

“Bob says the Boss will want to talk to you about how you got to the bottom of the gorge.”

Bob signed something a little more insistently and Bars moved his head in an exaggerated movement that imitated a human rolling his eyes. “You know I ain’t calling her that. She’s _the Boss._ Only _you_ get to call her ‘Miss Ashe.’”

“Ashe!?” Zenyatta said the name in alarm. Bob turned around to grab a small screwdriver off of a nearby counter and Zenyatta saw the decal on the back of his vest: the words, ‘DEADLOCK REBELS, EST. 1978’ arching over a winged skull biting down on a padlock and chains.

“Yep!” Bars answered, apparently mistaking the shock in Zenyatta’s voice for excitement, “The Calamity herself! You’re real lucky we found you! You’re in the safest place in the Sonora!”

_Oh I very much doubt that_, thought Zen.

“You almost done, Bob?” said Bars.

Bob held up one finger in a ‘wait’ gesture, tightened a screw, then gave a thumbs-up.

“All right,” said Bars, “Restoring motor functions.”

Zen felt sensation flood back into his limbs and he pushed himself up off of the table he was splayed on. He circled his wrists and worked his fingers, finding them in suitable working order. He swung his legs over the side of the table.

“Take it slow,” said Bars, “Gyroscopics might not be 100%–”

Zen stumbled off the table and was caught by Bob.

“…calibrated,” said Bars.

“I—My thanks,” Zenyatta managed as Bob helped him up to his feet. Zenyatta glanced down at his feet, clanking awkwardly against the concrete of the workshop’s floor. The nine lights on Zenyatta’s forehead glowed brightly for a few moments before he perked up. “I cannot seem to access most holo-networks,” he said with conern.

“Oh yeah. Security measure. You need clearance for that,” said Bars.

“…may I have clearance?” asked Zenyatta.

“That’s up to the Boss,” said Bars.

Almost on cue the door swung open and an intimidating woman, all black and white and red and gold, stepped in. She gave a sharp look to both Bob and Bars and instantly they shuffled off to the side, practically fading into the background as she stepped toward Zen. She stared down Zen on that worktable, her winged-eyeliner framed eyes narrowing and her lips pursing, before her expression immediately softened (practically collapsed) and she suddenly seized Zen’s hand in her own. 

“My friend, I cannot _fathom_ what kinda hell you just went through for us to find you at the bottom of that gorge, but all I can say is thank God Almighty we did. How are you feelin’?”

Zenyatta was caught completely off-guard by the hospitality of the woman who, up to this point, Jesse McCree had described as ‘The most terrifying force of nature this side of the Rio Grande.’ 

“I… am well,” Zenyatta managed.

She released his hand, “Good to hear,” she said tilting the brim of her hat back with her thumb, “Well, sir–Can I call you sir?”

_Sir???_ Zenyatta was still trying to figure out how to adjust to the fact that this woman wouldn’t tear him apart and sell him for scrap with one look. “’There is no need for such formality. ‘Zen’ is fine,” said Zen.

“Well Zen,” said Ashe with a slight smile, “I don’t mean to intimidate ya, but I’m basically the law out in these parts, so I’m gonna need you to tell me how you ended up at the bottom of the gorge. It’s for security reasons, you understand. From what I gathered at the scene of the explosion, some punks calling themselves the ‘Sidewinders’ showed up and blew your convoy straight to hell– but I’m gonna need you to tell your side of the story so we can… piece the whole picture together, as it were.”

“The whole picture?” said Zen.

“Yes, indeed,” said Ashe, leaning against the worktable next to him. She gave a low sharp whistle and Bars picked up an Orb of Destruction from the shelving behind him and tossed it to her. “Care telling me what this is? We found them scattered along the bottom of the gorge along with you. Figured they might belong to you,” she put the orb in Zen’s hand and that still-half-panicked part of him briefly considered using it, causing enough of a disruption to get out of there, but he knew he was outnumbered here and even if he transcended he wouldn’t get far. He realized he had taken too long to respond because Ashe spoke again.

“You’re still a bit shaken, I take it?” said Ashe.

“Y-yes,” Zen said, desperate to buy time while he came up with any possible excuse for what he was other than ‘I’m with Overwatch.’

“Probably a sensitive type,” Bars spoke up behind her, “Artsy-type omnics might take longer to process than Omnics like me or Bob, boss.”

_Artsy?_ Zenyatta thought, and then he blurted out, “Yes! Art! Yes! The orb is…. art. It represents duality. Destruction and Harmony. We omnics exist at the cusp of that. The parts of a machine clicking together to form a greater whole as well as… destroying… things…” 

“Guess the triplets were right, for once in their goddamn lives,” said Bars.

“Mm,” Ashe gave a nod before turning back to Zenyatta, “The scene showed signs of a scuffle. Pulsefire indents in the road.”

“Yes, the uhhh, the gang, the…”

“Sidewinders.”

“The Sidewinders were shooting. A lot.” 

“Some indents show they came from your rig too,” said Ashe, folding her arms, “Now, ain’t no law against protecting yourself. If you have some ‘pacifist artsy’ reputation to maintain, ain’t no one’s gonna blame you for not letting yourself be a sitting duck on Route 66.”

_She really does keep a close eye on these roads, doesn’t she?_ Zenyatta thought, almost panicking. “Yes. The rig was… equipped with…” Zenyatta’s mind was racing, “Hard-light drones. Of course, those dematerialize completely when they are destroyed, thus having no wreckage alongside the road.”

“Hard-light drones…” Ashe strolled around the room thoughtfully, “Pricey stuff, that Vishkar tech. You must be big stuff in the art world, huh?”

“Yes! Yes, I am… very famous,” said Zenyatta.

Bob seemed to perk up and started signing very eagerly, prompting a laugh from Ashe. 

“Slow down, slow down, big guy!” said Ashe, knocking the side of her fist against Bob’s arm. She looked at Zenyatta. “Sorry, he’s excited. Bob’s a little starved for culture out here. I tell him he always was the classier one between us.”

Bob made an ‘Oh you,’ gesture with his hand before signing again.

“He says your work is beautiful,” said Ashe, picking up an orb of destruction.

“Oh… thank you,” said Zenyatta.

Bob continued signing.

“You can’t expect me to say all that–” Ashe started but Bob signed a gesture that was probably ‘Please?’ and Ashe huffed. “He says the intersection of—” she looked back at Bob who signed some more, “The intersection of contours and spherical symmetry evoke the astronomical, but the etchings seem almost religious–likely non-Western. Tibetan?”

“Oh–yes–that… that is what I was going for,” said Zenyatta, “It’s Nepali, actually. You have an excellent eye for art, my friend.”

Bob seemed to swell with pride.

“A famous artist…. I used to keep better track of all that,” Ashe was tossing the orb of destruction up and down in her hand with a sigh, “My folks were always throwin’ these galas and whatnot. More of an oil tycoon crowd than the avant-garde, though. Maybe if I went along with that life, we might have met under better circumstances,” she caught the orb, “But that’s the price of makin’ your own life, and choosing your own family.”

“I… still think the circumstances we’ve met under are fortunate,” said Zenyatta, “Your uh…Bob and his compatriot have done excellent repairs to me.”

“He’s really somethin’ ain’t he?” said Ashe, smiling at Bob.

“Yes, well,” Zenyatta tented his fingers a bit nervously, “If you have any more questions…”

“Not particularly,” said Ashe, “You’re welcome to stay and re-orient yourself as long as you need here, Bob can fix you up a glass of Glenwales–”

“I really must be going,” said Zenyatta, stumbling toward the door, “I still need to connect to your holonet to arrange my transportation.”

“The gang and I can drop you off,” said Ashe, “It’s the least we can do–”

“Thank you, but the… art gallery I was heading towards will probably be very concerned as to my whereabouts.”

“All right, suit yourself,” Ashe shrugged.

“I’ll… still need to connect to your holonet to get in contact with my friends,” said Zenyatta.

“Clearance code is Caledonia-9,” said Ashe.

Zenyatta focused briefly and made a chiming sound. 

“My thanks–” He started but suddenly winced from loud feedback of this comm.

“Oh–sorry–Must be some residual damage from the fall–” Bars started but was cut off by the sound of McCree’s voice over the comm.

_“It’s connected! He’s got a signal! Zen! Zen are you there? Tekharta Zenyatta are you alive?! It’s McCree! Zen, just ping me if you’re alive!”_

“McCree?” Ashe’s face twisted and her red eyes flicked to Zen with fury.

“I–I can explain—” Zenyatta started.

“Bars,” Ashe said the name in command, her voice flat. 

Zen barely managed to turn his head in Bars’ direction when felt something jam itself into his neck and suddenly electrical currents were running all over him. His limbs spasmed, and he saw Bars looking at him with that steady bicolored look before his vision cut out. The pain itself was only a brief burning metallic throb before unconsciousness swept over him once more.

—

Zenyatta wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he came to once more. Only this time he could tell all functions below his neck had been shut off. He glanced down to see that, as what was apparently an additional precaution, he was bolted into his seat by several semi-modified industrial clamps, like a vehicle held in place by a parking boot.

“Right,” Ashe’s voice was the first thing he heard when he came to, “Let’s start this again. And I think I should establish that I really, really do not appreciate being lied to.”


	3. Chapter 3

Ashe was sitting across from him, hat off, her white hair taking on a slight yellowish tint in the glaring light of the workroom. She looked smaller with the hat off, but sharper somehow, like a blade unsheathed. She sat across from him, leaned back in her seat slowly turning one of Zen’s orbs of destruction over in her hand. Bars and Bob loomed in the corner, and Zenyatta heard a sneeze to his left, moved to turn his head, but found he couldn’t. _All motor functions shut down again,_ he thought.

“Way to ruin the moment, idiot,” muttered a voice to Zen’s right.

“Wasn’t my fault!” said the source of the sneeze.

“Both of you shut up–” said a voice behind Zen.

“Boys,” Ashe spoke simply and the three voices flanking Zen instantly silenced.

“Sorry boss,” they all spoke in unison. Ashe gave a nod of acknowledgement before fixing her red eyes on Zenyatta.

“Care telling me what you’re doing working with Jesse McCree?” She

“Can I ask what will happen if I don’t tell you?” asked Zenyatta.

“You can,” said Ashe, “You ain’t gonna like it.”

_Stall, _thought Zenyatta, _You know McCree and the others are looking for you. Just stall._

“What will happen?” asked Zenyatta.

“We still find out,” said Bars, “We shut you down, dismantle your head, sort through your visual data from the past 36 hours a handful of terabytes at a time. We put everything back, put you back together, and wake you back up, of course, but everyone says it feels like everything in their head’s been moved an inch to the left.”

“You would do that to another Omnic?” said Zenyatta.

“I’ve _done_ it to other Omnics,” said Bars, leaning in.

Zenyatta studied Bars’ face for a moment, “…one of those eyes isn’t yours, is it?” said Zenyatta.

“It’s mine now,” said Bars with a shrug. Horror flickered across the lights in Zenyatta’s forehead and Bars just stood up to his full height, “It’s all parts, Zen. That’s all it is.”

“How can you just…” Zenyatta trailed off.

“How many Null Sector units you see roving around here?” said Bars, folding his arms.

“…none?” said Zenyatta, “But they only target population centers–”

“You know how much prime solar power real estate is in these deserts? Enough to make a new Omnium,” said Bars, stepping forward, “But because there’re no population centers, you don’t see the US government giving a shit about it.”

“I told you,” said Ashe, leaning forward, “I’m the law around here.”

“You are a weapons trafficker, a bully, and a thief,” said Zenyatta.

Bob suddenly loomed forward, insulted on Ashe’s behalf, but Ashe held up a hand and Bob stilled. He signed something furiously but Ashe only gave him a short glance before saying, “It’s fine, Bob,” before turning back to Zen. “And you’re claiming moral high ground on account of, what, working with Jesse McCree? You come into my territory blowing shit up and you want to act like you didn’t throw a rock at a hornets nest?” said Ashe.

“Whatever personal issues you have with McCree–” Zenyatta started.

“Don’t,” said Ashe, “Tell me what you and McCree were doing out here.”

Bars was already looking over a tray laden with screwdrivers of various sizes. He turned on an acetylene torch to make sure it worked.

“Jesse McCree is with Overwatch,” said Zenyatta, and then he added, “I–I am with Overwatch. The new Overwatch.”

It felt strange saying it without Genji around. He and Genji had decided that Overwatch was the best means to stop the rising conflicts between human and Omnic in the world, but without Genji there, any connection Zenyatta felt to Overwatch was tenuous at best. Zenyatta had always felt like the one guiding Genji, but now, alone in a grubby little garage in the middle of nowhere on Route 66, Zenyatta felt like he had just wandered after Genji into this whole mess.

“Go on,” said Ashe as Bars examined a screwdriver.

“We were stopping a shipment of explosives,” Zenyatta spoke quickly, “Not yours. They were from Talon. The plan was to safely drop them off with the authorities at Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, when we were intercepted by the Sidewinders. There was a… miscommunication, on my team’s end, and rather than let the explosives fall into the wrong hands, we detonated them. I was separated from my team in the blast.”

“…you were caught in an explosion… because of a miscommunication…” Ashe repeated slowly.

_I was caught in an explosion because I was put on a team with someone who doesn’t care if omnics live or die,_ thought Zenyatta before answering, “Yes. A miscommunication.”

“Well if McCree was on that mission, that doesn’t surprise me. Shit seems to have a magnetic attraction to fans when he’s around. Let me guess: McCree’s here because he’s ‘an expert on the area,’” said Ashe.

_“You need to put me on this mission. I’m an expert on the area,”_ Zenyatta could clearly hear McCree’s voice in his memory.

“…yes,” said Zenyatta.

Ashe huffed incredulously. “I’d call him a son of a bitch but truth be told I have nothing but respect for any woman who spent that many years looking after his sorry ass without strangling him,” she stood up from her chair, now tossing the orb of destruction up and down in her hand and walking thoughtfully around the room, “That was the only reason you were here?” she said, looking back at Zenyatta, “Overwatch has no intention on stepping in on any of Deadlock’s operations?”

“Deadlock… isn’t as high a priority as Talon or Null Sector,” said Zenyatta.

Ashe chuckled and the triplets behind Zenyatta forced nervous laugh along with her. “’Not a high priority,’ he says,” said Ashe, “Oh, but once you take care of Null Sector and Talon, then petty criminals like us should be quaking in our boots,” she walked over to a worktable where her black hat was resting and fitted it back on, adjusting it in her reflection in the glass of a cracked analog television tucked in the corner, “Is that what you’re gonna do after you save the world? Do what the old Overwatch did after the Crisis and just start policing the world over again?”

“I… I don’t know,” said Zenyatta. He certainly didn’t see _himself_ being an enforcer like that.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” said Ashe, looking at him with something almost like pity, “So… how is the fight going?”

“Excuse me?” said Zenyatta.

“The fight. The big damn heroic-ass fight,” said Ashe, “How’s it going?”

“I… would not be able to tell you,” said Zenyatta.

“Oh I don’t doubt that,” said Ashe, “But what do you think of it? Is it getting any easier? You got ‘em on the ropes?”

Zenyatta was silent at this.

“Figured,” She gave a glance to the orb in her hand, “You don’t exactly strike me as the mercenary type… what are you doing with them?”

“I heal and advise,” said Zenyatta. _How often do they listen though?_ a bitter voice in his head spoke up, made sharper by his own sense of helplessness and isolation, _Winston, Jack, and Ana listen to Doctor Ziegler before they listen to me because they actually worked with her. Lúcio is friendly, but his focus is largely on Vishkar. Genji listens, but he tends to keep out of the larger-scale strategizing anyway, so I can hardly expect him to advocate for me if he’s not advocating to begin with. Tracer listens, if only because she respected Mondatta._

That last thought stung and if Zen could have shaken his head to stop the train of thoughts, he would.

“You advise,” said Ashe, arching an eyebrow, “But you don’t know how the fight is going?”

“I don’t… advise tactically…” said Zenyatta, hesitantly, before attempting to assert himself as best he could while being completely immobilized. No, he wasn’t going to let himself get discouraged here. “Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization. If there is going to be peace, it requires guidance from activists like myself.”

“I thought you looked Shambali,” said Ashe, tilting her head, “So a cozy little alliance there, huh?”

“I… am no longer Shambali,” Zenyatta said a bit stiffly.

Ashe perked up a bit at this. That look of not-quite-pity seemed to shift into genuine concern. “Seriously?” she said.

“I _was_ Shambali, but then the Shambali became overly concerned with dogmatism and overshadowed by their own fame, I believed the path to changing the world was in individual connections.”

Bob’s shoulders softened a bit at this but Bars made another exaggerated motion of his head to indicate eye-rolling.

“…So I set out on my own path,” said Zenyatta.

“And that lead you to Overwatch?” said Ashe, tilting her head.

_Genji lead me to Overwatch,_ thought Zenyatta, but he managed a, “Yes.”

Ashe huffed a little before plopping back down in her seat.

“Bob,” she said, not even looking over her shoulder at the massive omnic butler, “Get my usual and get him some Glenwales.”

Bob perked up and quickly headed out of the room.

“I don’t want Glenwales–” Zenyatta started.

“Yes you do,” said Ashe. There wasn’t a playful _‘Come onnnn live a little!’_ lilt in her voice, but rather a flat factuality.

“You threaten to take my head apart, and you think some oil is going to establish trust?” said Zenyatta.

“You talk about trust, but I wasn’t the one who started off this whole thing claimin’ to be an artist,” Ashe scoffed, “The sad part was I really wanted to believe that. We would have sent a tail after you when we let you go, I mean I’m not _stupid_, but I did want to believe it. But no, this isn’t about trust, Zen. This is about hospitality, and god knows you could use some.” She glanced over her shoulder at Bars. “Bars? Restore the motor functions of his head, neck, and left arm.”

“You sure, boss?” said Bars.

“Well I ain’t pourin’ that oil down his gullet, do you want to?” said Ashe, “It’s five on one and he’s not an idiot. Just lost. Like anyone.”

“I am not lost,” said Zenyatta, adjusting himself in his seat as he felt something pinch in his neck and felt the ability to move flood back into his arm.

Bob came back with an oddly fancy silver tray and two bottles and two glasses set upon it. One was an already-half-empty crystal decanter, the other was a commercial bottle of Glenwales, not even opened. 

“Sure you are,” said Ashe, filling her own glass with the whiskey, “You’re working with Jesse McCree, ain’t you?”

“Overwatch as an organization is far more effective than you give it credit for,” said Zenyatta. 

“I’m sure,” said Ashe with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s a hodgepodge, but the firepower you’ve got is nothin’ to sneeze at.”

“You’re more lost than me,” said Zenyatta, “You are plagued by doubt and resentment, your vision is clouded by anger, and you are ultimately chained down by your past.” His words would have far more effect with an orb of discord, but if it had managed to stop Genji in his tracks a few years ago, he saw no reason why it wouldn’t work on Ashe. But Ashe just kept that expression at him as Bob poured Zenyatta a glass of Glenwales and offered it to him. Bob looked questioningly to Ashe as well with Zenyatta’s words but Ashe seemed unshaken.

“Uh huh,” said Ashe, sipping her whiskey, “I know all that. And you’re in Overwatch because…”

“Because I must help,” said Zenyatta.

“Just not tactically,” said Ashe, swirling her whiskey in its glass, “And martially you can probably hold your own, but you’re not exactly a soldier. Or a doctor. And arguably you could advocate but as you said, you’re exactly Shambali, either.”

Despite finally having partial movement, Zenyatta stiffened in his seat.

“Lost recognizes lost,” said Ashe, “Which I guess brings me to the rub of the whole situation, which is, what do you think Overwatch would give to have you back?”

Zenyatta suddenly felt very hollow. Overwatch’s resources were stretched phyllo-thin as it was. He knew as a medic he was invaluable, but whether Overwatch had anything to offer or would even negotiate such a matter…

“It doesn’t matter,” said Zenyatta, “McCree was easily able to defeat you before–”

“Yeah. Fresh after a heist when everyone was exposed and exhausted and he was pulling the puppet strings on the situation just so he could get his glowy blue sex doll back. This situation calls for _your_ team storming _our_ turf–which, I promise you, will end up _much worse_ if it really comes to that, which it doesn’t have to. I don’t have the time to bother with a hostage. Your team wants you back. We can take care of this like adults.” She motioned with her own glass to the bottle of Glenwales, “And we’ll see you’re well-taken care of in the meantime.” Zenyatta noted the virtually unchanged level of whiskey in her own glass and the still-sharp look in her eye as she set her own glass down. No, she wouldn’t get his guard down that easily. 

“How kind of you,” Zenyatta’s voice was bitter and dry.

“Aw, thank you!” Ashe put a hand over her heart, “People tell me I’m too nice _all the time.”_

“They do?” said one of the triplets, before he got swatted upside the head by one of his brothers.

“Bars?” said Ashe, putting her hands on her hips, “Think you can figure out whatever comm network our guest is linked up to?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Bars, rolling his shoulders.

“Good. I want an accessible channel with it by the time I get back. You three,” Ashe motioned to the triplets, “With me. We’re riding. Making sure there’s none of those Sidewinder clowns in our territory in the meantime.”

“You got it, boss!” the triplets said in unison.

“Bob?” Ashe put a hand on the massive omnic’s shoulder, “I am leaving the comfort of our dear guest in your very capable hands… Also rip his head off if he tries escapin’.”

Bob gave a slight bow to Ashe as she walked out of the room, the Deadlock triplets trailing behind her in a line. They all headed out the door but Ashe paused in the doorway, “I mean, we can put it back, of course–”

“…Of course,” said Zenyatta, dryly.

Ashe made a finger gun at him, “Sit tight!” she said, before slipping away from the doorway.

About a minute of pure silence and stillness passed, punctuated only by the sound of Bars’ tools clinking as he sifted through them and then the hum of hovercycles in the distance. Zenyatta slumped a little in his seat, and then noticed Bob was pushing a glass of Glenwales in his direction.

“…I don’t want any,” said Zenyatta.

“Do you have tac-mods?” said Bars.

“Pardon?” said Zenyatta.

“Tactile modifications? You know, ‘Oh wow, organic partner, you touching me feels _so good_, and this is very genuine because I physically altered myself so we would both feel better about your dumb meatsack body rubbing on my chassis.’”

“…I… have.. some,” said Zenyatta.

“Where?” said Bars.

“That’s rude,” said Zenyatta.

“I’m asking you so I don’t hurt you,” said Bars.

“…Chest, forehead, and hands,” said Zenyatta.

“Really?” said Bars, “No…?” he gestured at his pelvic region.

“I…. considered them, but decided I wouldn’t get them until I found the right partner,” said Zenyatta.

“Ooh la-la,” said Bars, picking up a screwdriver, “Got a real romantic on our hands.”

“I’m a monk,” said Zenyatta.

“You’re not Shambali,” said Bars, stepping alongside Zenyatta and setting a screwdriver against one of the bolts securing the small flattened cylinder on the left side of his jaw. A few loosened screws the upper half of it came off easily. Zen didn’t feel a thing. He did feel a wire being stuck into one of the manual ports and then glanced off to the side to see Bars holding a tablet and tapping a few things into it. Zenyatta heard a high pitched noise buzz through his head for a few seconds before Bars extracted the wire.

“Got what I need,” said Bars, walking out of the room, “All you, Bob.”

Bob nodded as he headed off and the door closed behind him. Bob took a seat in the metal folding chair Ashe had been sitting in. It creaked and whined beneath his weight. Bob sat primly, one leg folded over the other, fingers interlaced on his knee like an old-fashioned gentleman in a victorian clothing catalogue. 

He signed something at Zenyatta.

“…I don’t understand,” said Zenyatta.

Bob perked up, slightly alarmed, held up a finger again in a “Wait,” gesture, then stood up, stepped over to a work table and rifled through it briefly before pulling out a data drive. He pulled a small handkerchief from the interior of his vest and wiped the data drive down, looked it over, seemed pleased with it, then stepped in front of Zenyatta once more.

He held up the data drive to Zenyatta.

“What?” said Zenyatta.

Bob gestured to the side of his own head, then pointed at the exposed port on the side of Zenyatta’s jaw.

Zenyatta flinched back slightly and Bob made a slightly flailing, “it’s okay!” gesture, before taking a phone out from the interior of his vest. He slowly and clumsily tapped something out on the phone and then held the screen up for Zenyatta to read.

_It’s safe._

_I promise._

“I would like to trust you,” said Zenyatta, “But… given the circumstances…”

Bob withdrew the phone, rapidly tapped the screen indicating him deleting a word, then tapped something out again and held the phone up once more.

_“I PROMISE”_ was in all caps now and Bob held up the data drive.

Zenyatta paused, studying Bob’s face, then gingerly took the data drive from Bob and inserted it into the exposed port in the side of his jaw. His train of thought slowed as it always did when he was downloading a large amount of data and Bob started signing.

“I don’t understand what you’re–” Zenyatta started, but then he did.

“—doesn’t cover all the signs, people are always making new ones, of course,” Bob was signing, “But you should be able to fill in the gaps–Do you understand me?”

Zenyatta sat there, stunned.

“Do you understand me?” Bob signed again.

Zenyatta brought up his one functioning hand and slowly signed, “Yes.”

Bob’s eyes brightened. “Oh! I’m so glad! You don’t have to sign everything. You can just talk. It’s fine.”

“…why don’t you talk?” said Zenyatta.

“I tried a couple different voice boxes, Ashe and Bars still bring me some, sometimes,” Bob signed, “None of them sounded right. None of them sounded like me. This,” he signed, “Feels like me.”

“But you were made without a voice box?” said Zenyatta.

“Technically I’m just a slightly more advanced labor unit,” Bob signed, “I was never designed with one. I learned ASL because deafness is congenital in Miss Ashe’s family.”

“…explains why she’s so good at yelling,” Zenyatta said a bit dryly.

“It’s not my place to apologize on her behalf,” signed Bob, “But it does touch on a very sore spot that you’re involved with Jesse McCree and that you lied about it—”

“Because she’s the most dangerous woman in the southwest,” said Zenyatta.

“Dangerous things tend to be so to survive,” Bob signed. He paused for a bit and Zenyatta was silent as well.

“You spoke more than I thought you would,” Bob signed after a while.

“Oh–I did?” said Zenyatta.

“I was worried Bars would take your head apart–” Bob signed, “I mean the procedure is perfectly safe, but that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant but… you shared a lot…”

“…I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that many questions–me as in… _me_,” said Zenyatta, “Not what I thought so they could help themselves best—” He caught himself and then glanced back at Bob, who was still listening perfectly patiently, “I’m rambling. They’re a good team,” said Zenyatta.

“I’m sure,” Bob signed.

“They _are_,” said Zenyatta.

“I never said they weren’t,” signed Bob.

Zenyatta just slumped back in his seat a bit.

“I do wish we had met under better circumstances,” Bob signed, glancing off at the orb of destruction Ashe had left on the workbench, “But Miss Ashe doesn’t believe in keeping families apart. As harsh as she can be, she _does_ want to see you back home.”

“I carry the Iris with me,” said Zenyatta, glancing off, “Home is wherever I can bring human and omnic together in harmony.”

Bob paused at this. “So home is with you,” Bob signed, “It’s not… technically… with them.”

“No–” said Zenyatta, “Well-Yes–I mean…” Zenyatta made a sighing sound. Not having any lungs, the sound itself didn’t have any physical purpose aside from giving him a few seconds to think, “Is this place home to you?” said Zenyatta.

“It is. I rather like being a dastardly rogue,” Bob signed, “It’s quite thrilling.”

Zenyatta chuckled a little at the sign for ‘Dastardly.’

“And Miss Ashe is my family,” signed Bob.

Zenyatta reared back slightly in his seat at this.

“She can surprise you,” Bob signed. He daintily extended a finger and pushed the little glass of Glenwales across the silver tray towards Zenyatta with his pinky. “Lots of things about this place can.” 

Zenyatta gave a long look to the glass, then took it and gulped it down. Well, if he was going to be here for a while…


End file.
